


Demure

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Hawke, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill. Hawke tries to figure out an explanation for why Anders seems a little clueless about their flirtations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demure

_I should check a looking glass more often._

Hawke could have screamed. Even as Anders blinked at them, utterly oblivious, he ran a hand through his mussed hair and looked up at them with the nicest smile they’d seen in months.

If he wasn’t doing this on purpose they were the Maker’s entire damn ass—gone forever from that throne it belonged on.

Unfortunately, Hawke found out quickly they could change their middle name to ‘The Maker’s Ass’. Anders knew how to return a compliment well enough but he didn’t actually seem to have any intentions of reeling them in like he was. _Au contraire._

He shied away from their flirting, deflected with playful banter, and maintained a levelheadedness the likes of which nearly drove Hawke to drink. Once it did, and he even laughed at their drunken offer to accompany them home.

“I doubt your family would appreciate that, Hawke. Nor you, considering your wits aren’t fully about you.” he tutted, one hand placed gently on the center of their chest, keeping them both balanced and from wrapping themselves around him like some strange _mage-snake_.

Later, when a stinging hangover and itchy borrowed sheets woke them too early, they recalled a certain redness in his face. Anders didn't—apparently couldn't—drink. He usually just joined the group for cards and conversation and free food when Varric got the notion. So why, then, had his face been such a vibrant shade of red the whole walk to Gamlen’s place with them wrapped around his arm?

When Anders let out bits of his past—things like pranking the Hero of Ferelden with grease traps and spending nearly a month hiding from templars in a brothel in Denerim—Hawke couldn’t really picture some of it. He was such a picture of reservations now. So even-tempered and subdued, even in his more playful moments.

But, then again, what Hawke couldn’t understand just drew them in more.

“Do you ever get tired of that game he’s playing with you?” Isabela asked, leaning on the bar next to them while Hawke got another round, “Seems like it’s wearing you down, sweetness.”

“I’m not sure he’s playing a game.” Hawke confessed, smiling back weakly, “Maybe he’s just… shy?”

“Shy of what? This?” Isabela made a pointed motion towards Hawke’s form. They shrugged.

“I am a handful.”

Isabela just laughed and grabbed some of the mugs from Hawke’s order for them. “Oh,” she said, “anyone should be jumping at the chance to get a handful or two of you in the dark.”

Hawke chuckled, grabbed the other half of the orders, and trailed after her. They handed off everyone’s mugs and returned to their seat next to Anders, shooting the mage a grin. He smiled back, a tiny and lopsided little thing, and quickly moved his eyes back to his cards.

Hawke nearly got so distracted by the freckles on his nose they knocked their fresh ale off the table. They could feel Isabela’s eyes on them as they steadied the mug but did their best to act natural as they plucked their cards back up.

Years later, they learned quite how different Anders was when he allowed himself to simply be.

He laughed and joked with abandon—with some of the dirtiest humor around, he kept their shared space in ordered chaos rather than meticulous cleanliness, and he was endearingly eager to be open with his affections once he knew they were desired. Hawke found it almost comical, in a way, how easily he shifted.

“Can you believe I actually told Isabela I though you were _shy_?” they hissed to him when Anders settled his hand on the small of their back, then inched it lower—out in the open air of Lowtown’s marketplace. “Foolish of me, really.”

Anders just grinned and pressed a kiss to their temple—quick but no less openly affectionate than usual.

“In all fairness,” he said, “I thought you were just joking first few months.”

“Oh, not serious enough for you, was I? I’ll show you _joking_ alright.” Hawke grinned, bumping their hip against Anders’ as they pulled at his waist—steering back towards Hightown.

Anders just laughed. “Only if I get to show you how _timid_ I am, love.”

As it turned out, neither of them were very good at pretending to be what they weren’t for very long.


End file.
